


The Dying Child

by yeolnuts



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Lying Game, M/M, Mystery, Mythology References, Romance, Tragedy, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 16:02:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17164985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeolnuts/pseuds/yeolnuts
Summary: Chanyeol once told a lie that tore apart the very fabric of the universe.





	The Dying Child

**Author's Note:**

> updates are... maybe once a month or whenever i finish a chapter?  
> i'm @yeolnuts on twitter. drop by. or don't.

 

“Hey shithead, do you think this is funny?” Kyungsoo asks this with a frown on his lips and frustration lurking in his eyes. Chanyeol fancies he can feel the small bubble of irritation Kyungsoo had wrapped around himself coil and expand into ferocious anger. “Do you think that death is the correct answer Park Chanyeol? After everything you-Tch! Do you think you can get out of this just like that?”

 

Kyungsoo's not one to shout. He never raises his voice. Chanyeol remembers him as a demure soft spoken guy, shyness deeply ingrained in every pore of his skin, burrowed deep in the marrow of his bones. Kyungsoo’s a silent existence that doesn’t infringe nor have an impact on Chanyeol’s life. Supposed to be.

 

But. Chanyeol doesn’t really know Kyungsoo. He knows of him but he’s not Kyungsoo’s friend. Chanyeol’s supposedly everything Kyungsoo isn’t after all. Tall, popular, and complicated. A loud guy, always happy and prone to spontaneity. He had always believed that birds of a feather, well, they’re the ones that tend to stick together, aren’t they? Besides, as far as his limited knowledge goes, no one is actually Doh Kyungsoo’s friend.

 

He was the odd one and people don’t like strange, gravitates away from it warily.

 

There’s a not so gentle prod at his ribs followed by a puff of warm air on his forehead and Chanyeol looks up just in time to see Kyungsoo tilting his head. Chanyeol finds his eyes following the line of Kyungsoo’s neck, the curve of his jaw to the corner of his pursed full lips. There’s a mole there, tiny and subtle. His thick eyebrows are knitted together, making his glare even more intense. It’s jarring to realize how handsome Kyungsoo looks despite the severity of his expression.

 

Another prod at his tender ribs that made him wince, breath coming out in ragged pants.

 

“Isn’t it?” He gasps out and he feels himself wither under the fierceness of Kyungsoo’s glare.

 

Silence envelops them for a while, seconds trickling past as Kyungsoo continue to look down at him. He averts his gaze, feeling bare under the watchfulness of that gaze, and he takes the chance to glance around their surrounding. Eyes drinking in the tiled floor saturated with morning light filtering through the broken windows, their broken oily dust covered shards on the floor. The gaudy wallpaper pattern, thorny blue roses wrapped in thick black chains against a cream background, is an ugly sight. Cracked and peeling at some places where the termite infested wooden walls peek through. Spattered with blood on other places. His congealed and crusted flaking blood like an abstract artwork to liven the decor.

 

“Can you walk? Can you move at all?”

 

“Nah.” He looks down at his ruined jacket and grimaces. He can see a small glint of steel protruding from his gut, the thick pool of blood cooling under him. “Eh, I don’t think anyone is capable of moving in this state.”

 

“Tch! Yixing’s not gonna like this.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Nevermind that. Just hold on while I-”

 

Kyungsoo’s voice is low and smooth. Chanyeol likes it, can almost delude himself he can taste the richness of it and idly he muses that Kyungsoo has a voice well suited for singing. He probably can belt out verses in the middle of the street or in an alley and everyone will think it’s a must watch concert. Chanyeol thinks he may have envied that, to have that voice capable of-

 

“Chanyeol!” Kyungsoo’s face comes into focus, blurry now and pale as a paper. Like the ones he often sees Sehun hiding under his desk, filled with his ugly charcoal sketches of a sleepy pair of eyes and scrawls of flying blobs of cloud shaped puppies. Sehun doesn’t show it to anyone else but him, doesn’t mind his good natured teasing as much. After he’s gone, dead dead dead,  would Sehun draw again? Will he show it to anyone else?

 

“Hey! Wake up. You bastard you have to stay with me.” Kyungsoo’s voice sounds distorted now, as if he is underwater and the voice travels on the waves. He can hear but he cannot comprehend the language. Chanyeol thinks Kyungsoo’s calling his name, mouthing something at him but he doesn’t know what it is. There is an urgency in Kyungsoo’s expression that Chanyeol can’t be bothered to decipher.

 

He feels sleepy, and cold, and uncomfortable. There’s a dull throbbing on his temple, his ribs still felt sore from all the trashing earlier, and his legs feels like they’ve already fallen asleep for a decade. Useless as they stretched parallel to the floor. He feels death coming to pick him up, tendrils of oblivion creeping into his slowly beating heart. He sinks into its embrace, curls in the feeling of nothingness. No pain. No joy. Nothing.

 

“-nyeol! Tell me your answer. Quickly now! Before it’s t-”

 

Chanyeol doesn’t know what Kyungsoo was asking. Doesn’t know why his brown eyes are as round as dinner plates and looking more than a little wild. Doesn’t know why there’s a spot of crimson on Kyungsoo’s cheeks, his neck, his nose.

 

“F-feathers. You-”

 

He wants to giggle, burst into uncontained laughter and shout “I knew it!” a thousand times over, but instead he coughs up blood, the red of it splattering Kyungsoo’s white button down. Blood dribbles down his chin and Chanyeol tries to wipe it off but finds he cannot move, his hands weigh like lead by his side. Darkness begins to creep at the edges of his vision. Kyungsoo shakes him once, twice, followed by a hand reaching out to cup Chanyeol’s face and it’s warm, warmer than anything he’d ever felt. Chanyeol leans into it smiling and dopey, deludes himself that the discomfort of his body is ebbing at the scent of strawberries and smoke that clings to Kyungsoo’s skin.

 

“Chanyeol? Fucking hell! Answer me!”

 

It’s odd, that in the muted light of dawn Kyungsoo appears so much more like the warrior of the underworld. Chanyeol grins.

 

“Sure.”

 


End file.
